4:14 am

He said:

This is not your home.  It is mine.

You have a bad heart.

If you were a good person you would allow me to do whatever I wanted in my house.

Bring over drunk women at 2 am.

Allow them to break glasses and commit adultery in the bathroom.

Disrupt your studies.

Oh, that’s right you’re trying to better yourself for us.

But why?  You’re useless.

You can clean their mess in the morning.

Let me talk to my friends kindly and treat them with respect.

As I talk to you like you’re a piece of shit.

__________________________________________

She said:

I once believed your heart was pure.

There was a moment in time when you adored me.

You would whisper words of love that would nurture my soul.

Gentle and kind.

Loving and true.

I looked up to you.

My heart is good.

I am enough.

I just wish I was enough for you.

Curly Miri © 2014

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Eleven

I was only eleven.  His welcoming arms and tender embrace felt so safe.  Going to the beach was our favourite pastime.  We would walk hand in hand along the shore in search of pretty shells and slimy seaweed.  I looked into his eyes in search of kindness and in return his beaming smile made me feel like I was loved.  I guess that’s why I felt special when he would visit me in my bedroom each night.

At first, we would talk for hours then as the evenings grew colder he would lay with me beneath my covers and touch me.   I was taken aback the first time he kissed me, his lips stale with the stench of cigarettes accompanied with the sweet words, “It’s okay, I love you.  I just want to make you feel good.”  I did not hesitate as he made me feel complete.   He wanted more so he started to caress my inner thigh and in between my legs he would lay and the pleasure I felt made me feel like I belonged to him.  He made me promise not to tell anyone, especially our family.  Telling me that if I let anyone know about us that our bond would be broken and no other could ever love me the way he did.  I believed every honeyed word that left his lips.

I yearned for his embrace each night.  No one told me that what he was doing was wrong.  I did not feel that being loved could ever be wrong, even if it was by my own uncle.  The years passed and our relationship continued.  He would bring girlfriends around to family brunch on Sunday.  In my jealousy I would threaten to inform my family, but he said it was to ensure they would never think anything was going on between us.  I believed every saccharine word from his mouth.

I left home to be with him when he moved to another town.  I was overjoyed when I became pregnant and thought he would share in my joy.  No.  This moment of happiness was removed in an instant.  He slapped me across my face and beat me until I could no longer bleed, leaving my baby without a heartbeat.   Didn’t he love me?  Didn’t he want me?  Did I not give myself to this man every night for six years?

Tonight, I shall return to the deep blue of where we once walked hand in hand.  No longer will I collect scattered shells or delight in his shameless paradigm of affection. I will remember the sweetness of being a child, innocent and untainted by a love that has torn the core of my being.

I will be free.

Curly Miri © 2014

*This story is inspired by the many women who have experienced this devastating ordeal within their own family.  Women take care of our girls, protect their innocence.

Check out the “Not So Pretty” & “Experiences” category.

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Love & Laughter,
Curly Miri

You Stole My Innocence

His lips touched mine; bitter, wet and stale.  The lingering scent of his body reminiscent of hovering flies gazing upon sweet lies.  He caressed my inner thigh and looked into my eyes unafraid and unmoved by my trembling fear.  I lay there motionless and naive, thinking of how much I wanted to hide in an abyss of comfort and love.

“This will make you feel good” he promised.  The first time a man I trusted offered me a promise, so broken and untrue.  “You will be okay” he pledged.  My eyes burned with sorrow, my heart etched with pain as his undesirable intrusion entered my innocence.

This must mean that every man that glances at me has preying eyes, and a broken promise to offer my damaged soul.  Is it true that my body is not a temple but rather a used shack for your pleasure?  Every time I see your smile it haunts me, your repulsive touch makes me want to run and hide from your meadow of treachery.  The tone of your disloyal voice makes me hate everything I am.

I trust no one because of you.  I will not ever know what it is to make love.  Because you raped me.

Curly Miri © 2013

*A piece inspired by a discussion with a female relative.  My heart goes out to every woman who has ever experienced such a frightening ordeal.  My hope is that you find comfort, love and peace.

Love & Laughter,
Curly Miri

Too Beautiful For Earth

I often wonder what it would be like to wake up on Christmas morning surrounded by my kids jumping into bed for cuddles then rushing away to the Christmas tree to open up presents.  Our home filled with the delightful scent of baked goodies and treats.  Mister and I sitting on the sofa watching our children laugh and play as they open their presents. The simple gesture of ‘Merry Christmas, Mum’ would be the sweetest words to hear.

This Christmas I will light a candle for my baby I never held. Today you would have been 1 year and 4 months old.

“An angel in the book of life wrote down my baby’s birth. And whispered as she closed the book, “Too beautiful for Earth.”

unity candle

Walking Away

Nostalgic.  5.15pm, November 29 2005.  Snowflakes fall gracefully as tears well up in my eyes.  I look at the snow, so serene, simple, pure and innocent, and I wish this could be a reflection of me. Stumbling in silence, we enter the foyer of the Spokane County Courthouse.  It is not my dad meeting me at the altar.  The altar does not even exist. It’s a Judge, dressed in morbid black, smiling with his pearly white teeth; ironic.

This is not how I pictured any of it; there are no gardenias, no strapless wedding gown, and no smiling faces in the crowd, or my best friend as maid of honour, no feast filled reception, no sunshine…no family.  What am I doing? I’m holding the hand of the man I have obsessed over since the sinless age of sixteen, and now five years later we are together.

My parents are 7810 miles away thinking I’m visiting relatives around the continental US.  I am betraying them.  This is going to hurt them.  How does a Samoan girl leave behind cultural tradition?  How does the eldest grandchild abandon family responsibility?  Love does not hurt, it burns.  My heart is scorched with an understanding of the ultimate betrayal.  Standing here in a cold and dark foyer I take it all in.  Here I stand with a man who is close to a stranger, an overly pleasant Judge, the scrawny court security guard who so kindly agreed to be our witness and I hear the song “I Miss You” by Blink 182, mirroring my thoughts in the echo of the silent room.  I close my eyes and let it all go.  Nothing else matters in this moment.

I embrace the emotional rollercoaster and this is how I feel.  So many questions unanswered.  Love.  What is it?  Where does it come from?  Who has it and who deserves it?  There is no genuine or precise definition of this fragile sense of being.  You know that feeling where you crave and crave until it becomes an obsession?  Where you know how that person talks? How they walk? How they smell?  And how they breathe?

The first thing in the morning when you wake and the last thing before you sleep at night, in your dreams and all the time between.  That is how much they dwell within you.  These are the times when you long to be with them, where you cannot think until you see them, until you feel their embrace, cold or warm.  It is an unconditional relationship entrapping deceit, hate and desire, maybe even real love, yet it is so much more, where two people are known to one another, where one is what you become, for a week or eternity.

You have to accept what is given to you, change will not occur.  Hope all you want, your hope will still be in vain.  Love is where the eloquence of honesty is what you live for.  Where hurting from the truth is better than living a lie.  What matters most to you?  Faithfulness from the heart and from the eyes.  Hurt comes, he may leave, and he might stay… maybe.  For what though?  This hurtful existence leaves you aching, longing, wanting more, leaves you naive, vulnerable and torn.  You may not get over it but the reality is you will have to move on, a cliché but true.  But anything is possible.  Being lonely is better than living unhappy.

Many years have passed.  I have moved on from the sadness.  I remember that cold November night, Blink 182 and a shiver of melancholic conscience washes over me.  Sometimes I wish time would stand still; allow the numbness to flow through, and embrace me completely. I am thankful so I let it all go, grateful for this burning feeling, this path of true and undying substance.  Now, it feels good to be free.

Curly Miri © 2012

Love & laughter,
Curly Miri

The Beauty Of Love

You are derivative of what encompasses me.  You came and plucked me from my youth, the innocence of me where I lay and breathed with ease, where being naive was my comfort.  You make me want nothing more but to reign free in the air you wander in aimlessly, as you provoke me to tear at you from the inside.

I yearn to feel a mere existence but instead I slumber in this boisterous subtlety you call love.  I am in awe of your presence.  Something you will never understand because you do not even utter a word in my direction.  You stutter and struggle to find meaning in who I am and what I stand for.  Am I not yours?  Do I not belong to you?  Am I not worthy? My eyes are empty; they are shallow from looking at you full of self pity as you display so blatantly your lack of humanity.  Displeasured am I, so full of disappointment.  I will never want you.

Always I have wondered why I let you in, filling me with the desire of your numbness, the beating drum of your heart, the sound forever pounding in my mind.  Summer essence ripped from you as the fundamental nature of you drowns me in this serenity, lifeless by your lies and deceitful lingering in an abyss of loneliness.

Cry for me, ache for me, the tender feeling you crave when you lie all alone in the cradling vessel you created.  Shame on you.  Laugh at me as I walk by, yelling, demanding and open this thing called a heart.  Letting you depict what it is you want me to believe, what you want me to feel.  I feel you.  I understand you.  This heart, will you ever know that it bleeds only for you?  Strum and play away as you always do, never caring to hear the aching beat of a spirit, so wounded and defeated by your careless murmurs that disappear when I open my eyes.

I hunger after the very core of you as I want you to feel what it is that I feel. I am envious of what you have and your existence among a meadow of deception.  The bodies you entwine with every night will never compare to the pureness of what I offered you.

This temple, so rare in delight, you will never touch again.  It is not yours to take, to use for your selfish desires.  It belongs to another.  A man of heart and grace that has taken me as I am with no reserve.  I do not deserve.  A lifetime has passed and with a touch of a blossoming flower, he is the epitome of all that is beauty as he embraces me in his affectionate arms, amorous and honest.  It is his gentle vines of sincerity that heal the jagged edges of my tender being.  At last, I know now what it is to be loved.

Curly Miri © 2012

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Love & laughter,
Curly Miri